Sticking Stream of Consciousness to the Man

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The absence of writing is, in itself, a written expression.

No, wait, that sounds stupid.

There is as much between the lines of writing as there is in no writing at all.

Okay, that sounds better. It’s still waxing bullshit, but it sounds better.

Hi, this is Khrisnege, and I’ve been neglecting one of my favoured forms of self-expressions.

I’ve been neglecting a few, actually. Doodling has died down without a conducive pencil-and-paper surface in my apartment and with actual work to do at work. My time and energy has been much more easily spent on playing video games – creatively, I assure you, building an entire world – and pacing back and forth neurotically just like the good old days.

But unlike the good old days, I’ve also been keeping myself busy with, not creative, but constructive things. Financial planning. Consulting health professionals. Community involvement. Shopping smarter rather than faster. And each time I do one of these things, I feel a moment of regret, questioning whether growing up has been worth it at all.

I dared to step out of my shell and ask a harmless question that gave me an answer that changes nothing. It cost me nothing to ask the question and, while I was looking to get a bit of a financial break from it, I earned nothing in return. No harm. Doesn’t hurt to ask. But it does, in that now I question all of my life’s choices up to now and in the future, doubting that anything I’ve ever done, any “investment” I’ve made in myself has had any return. I’ve had a few years of renewed optimism and I think that’s about to expire.

I don’t get a rush out of gambling, but other choices I continue to make seem like that, or worse yet, well disguised pyramid schemes. Adulthood is embedded with them. The economy built around us is a pyramid scheme. The employment contract and increasing longevity are pyramid schemes. Trapped in this system as I am, do I continue with the small contributions to what I’ve never believed in but in happier days appealed to me as a joke’s-on-them game of make-believe?

Seriously, I could use an actual answer.

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